


Way Down We Go

by bathtimefunduck



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Angst, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Pre Show, Self-Hatred, Spiral - Freeform, Suicidal Ideation, Suicidal Thoughts, inadequacy, maggie sawyer - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-30
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-05-16 04:18:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14804219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bathtimefunduck/pseuds/bathtimefunduck
Summary: Anonymous said:December 16th 2017, 3:00:00 pm · 5 months agoOoooh can you do number 4 for sanvers for the extra angsty au prompts? One of them wants to jump off a bridge and the other is the cop trying to save them





	Way Down We Go

**Author's Note:**

> Please see the tags for warnings.

Alex didn’t crumble when her father died. 

She cried, but she didn’t crumble. Alex stood tall at his graveside, tossing a handful of dirt onto an empty coffin, even as her mother and the alien her parents replaced her with sobbed nearby. Alex would stay strong. That’s what her father would have wanted. 

He would have wanted her to graduate. He would have wanted her to look after her sister. He would have wanted her to show the world what she could be. He would have wanted her to explore the stars. 

He wanted nothing. 

He was dead.

She didn’t crumble. 

Vicki found a boyfriend. She didn’t have time for the Danvers Melodrama, the nerd with a dead dad and a weird sister. Her stomach would twist every time Ben tugged Vicki away, promising better entertainment than what a best friend had to offer. 

It made her sick. 

They fought.

They screamed. 

She didn’t crumble. 

Alex didn’t crumble when her mother withdrew, leaving no shell of the woman she’d been. She didn’t crumble. Alex looked after the alien- her weird little foster sister- kept her safe and did her best, even when the woman with her mother’s face never believed otherwise. 

She wanted Kara to succeed. She wanted Kara to fit in. She wanted Kara to date. She wanted Kara safe. She wanted Kara normal. 

For Alex?

She wanted Alex to push Kara to succeed. She wanted Alex to help Kara fit in. She wanted Alex to encourage Kara to date. She wanted Alex to protect Kara. She wanted Alex to ensure that Kara was normal. 

She only saw the failures. 

Alex didn’t crumble. 

College came, and with it, a degree of freedom. She didn’t crumble. But the expectations only grew, they never waivered. She was still responsible for her sister, even miles away. Why couldn’t she protect her? Why wasn’t she dating more? No questions about Alex. Just Kara. 

Kara was all that mattered. 

Kara was the reason Jeremiah died. 

But she wasn’t, not really. 

No, that was Alex. Flying with Kara. Drawing attention with Kara. Then doing it again, in the aftermath of Kenny. 

Alex’s failures would always be greater than her success. Greater than her. 

She didn’t crumble. 

Graduate school again took her away, but not far enough.

Never far enough.

The burn of cheap booze tearing down her throat was a relief from the barrage of words her mother’s face spat out, upset and accusatory, whenever Kara’s life wasn’t perfect. When it didn’t go as planned.

Alex had a plan. Alex didn’t crumble, not even when her plans fell apart, stumbling under the weight of it all, crashing down and bringing her to her knees. 

She couldn’t crumble. 

But she could stumble. 

The letter burned in her pocket, scalding skin through fabric with the fires of failure, the threat of losing her program. 

The one thing her mother almost believed she was doing right. 

The cheap swill stolen from a house party swished in a half-empty bottle, the only noise on a quiet night blocks away from campus. 

She couldn’t crumble. 

The world was a haze of colors and city lights. One step in front of the other. Just like every other day. 

One step in front of the other. 

She couldn’t crumble. 

Fresh scabs scrapped by, the rough denim of her skinny jeans a reminder of her shame, just more proof that Alex was everything her mother didn’t want, everything her father believed she’d never be. 

She walked with as much purpose as she could, drifting with the glow of too much to drink and a little white tab some dude from one of her labs gave her to “loosen up.” 

Alex was plenty loose. 

She was an untethered comet, hurtling through space and time. The end result would always be the same. 

Catastrophe. 

Her mother all but predicted it. 

She couldn’t crumble. 

Water dripped from her face, stinging her eyes. The concrete of the bridge’s barrier scraped rough on her hands. She protected the bottle first, as she climbed over to sit on the edge. 

She was drunk.

She was still drinking. 

She couldn’t crumble. 

The bottle lifted to her lips even as she watched her shoe fall. 

And fall. 

And hit the rough waters below with a splash. 

A bigger splash than the rain. 

Alex was failing out of her program. She couldn’t make it to labs at 8 am. She spent every night like this one, finding a precipice to stand on. To watch the world turn while she stood back. Sometimes she’d find a perch, sometimes she’d find a man in a darkened club. 

It didn’t matter, so long as she could look into the abyss. 

Sometimes. 

Sometimes the abyss stared back. 

She couldn’t crumble. 

The bottle emptied at a rhythmic pace. She kept one hand on the concrete, scraping her hand back and forth to feel the burn. 

She didn’t notice the lights. 

Or the sirens. 

She didn’t notice the hand reaching out. 

Not until it touched her. 

She couldn’t crumble. 

Alex flinched. 

She couldn’t remember the last time touch was wanted. Or asked for. Or freely given, outside of bathroom stalls and alleyways. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. My name is Maggie, with the NCPD. I need you to get down from there, okay?”

Alex turned her head and blinked. 

She leaned forward a little, to get a better view of down. 

Days of rain made swirling whirlpools of leaves and branches rushing about below, crashing against the rocks that students sunned themselves on in warmer months. 

“No-”

The hand again, grasping for her arm. 

Alex jerked away, nearly losing her balance. 

Maggie retreated. “Hey, it’s okay. I won’t, I won’t touch you. Okay? Just, please. Come back over this side. It’s dangerous.”

The only thing dangerous about Alex was her ability to take everything she’d been given and blow it up spectacularly. 

She took another sip. 

The bottle was empty.

“What’s your name?”

“Alexsss. Alexsssssandra to my mother.”

“Alex. Can you hand me the bottle? I can hold that for you, so you can get down a little easier.”

Alex remembered the scrape and burn scrambling up. Balancing the bottle. Her near fall. 

Because she couldn’t crumble. 

She handed Maggie the bottle. 

Only. 

Only she fucked up. 

She twisted too much. 

She let go of the wall. 

Maggie caught the bottle. 

But Alex was as Alex does. 

And Alex was a fuck up. 

Alex couldn’t crumble. 

The rush was real. Just like the first time. Her first failure. Flying with Kara, who swore she’d catch her. 

Now Alex was flying. 

Without Kara. 

Alex couldn’t crumble.

The last thing she saw was the pretty cop diving over the side after her. 

Because Alex couldn’t crumble. 

But she could fall.

 


End file.
